


It's Called Diplomacy

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Conversations, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Rating May Change, Romantic Fluff, everyone dresses up, fancy dinner parties, neurotic obi-wan, set during s4, sexual content in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: The Republic is hosting a ball to celebrate its military victories. Not everyone can agree on whether it's a good idea to attend.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 53
Kudos: 387





	1. Ahsoka

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, unadulterated fluff to help me cope with how dark S4 is. Expect Obitine and Anidala in the following chapters (along with a rating bump).
> 
> First up: Obi-Wan gives everyone dancing lessons.

She should’ve known. She should’ve known the moment she saw the paper garment bag hanging up in her quarters, accompanied by a small note in clean, precise script that told her to be in the temple hall tomorrow morning wearing the enclosed outfit. Obi-Wan had signed the note, which had been completely unnecessary—no one in the entire Jedi Order wrote as neatly as he did. No one was neurotic enough to leave dry cleaning in her room with hand-written instructions attached to it, either.

Inside the garment bag were Jedi robes. Well, sort of. They looked incredibly expensive—they were a deep crimson with embroidered edges, along with boots and a thin belt that was entirely useless and only meant for decoration. These weren’t ceremonial robes, and they certainly weren’t her new officer dress blues. She’d rarely seen fabric of this quality except on senators and kings. 

She really,  _ really  _ should’ve known better than to follow the instructions. Anakin’s perpetual need to be contrary with his Master, no matter how trivial the command, suddenly made a lot more sense to her. Maybe she should take a page out of his book more often where Obi-Wan was concerned—especially when his requests involved dressing up in formal attire before breakfast.

Still, stupidly, naively, she did as he asked. She was six minutes late to the hall for their meeting, which she decided to blame on a lack of food and caffeine, and her tardiness meant that she was the last person to arrive. Apparently she wasn’t the only one Obi-Wan had sent clothes to.

“Ahsoka,” he called the moment she entered, far too chipper for so early in the morning. The tables and chairs had all been pushed to the sides, revealing a vast, unbroken stretch of marble floor. In the middle of it stood Obi-Wan, dressed in similarly exquisite robes. They were a deep brown, nearly black, with an outlined floral pattern imprinted across its surface, along with a grey-blue undertunic for colour. His sleeves were cuffed at the wrists, and attached to his decorative leather belt was his lightsaber. Even his boots were new, freshly polished with sharp broguing along its edges. She’d never seen him so dressed up, even for medal ceremonies. It made the still-healing black eye and stitched cut over his cheek look that much more out of place.

“Hi,” she said slowly, tearing her gaze away from him and finally looking at the other occupants in the hall. Anakin was about as far away from Obi-Wan as he could get without leaving the room entirely, sitting in a windowsill and looking thoroughly unamused. He was wearing a nearly identical outfit to his Master and herself, though his robes were a shiny black with a crimson accent. Rex, Cody, and Fives were also there, dressed in single-breasted jackets with capped shoulders that were similar to the dress blues they wore on the decks of naval vessels. They looked even more miserable than Anakin, though they were all standing straight-backed near the rear door.

Her eyes flicked back to Obi-Wan. “What’s uh, going on?”

“A ball,” Obi-Wan declared, and was met with a groan from Anakin that he ignored. “In a few days, the Senate will be holding a formal gathering to celebrate our recent victory on Umbara, among other things. All parties present have received an invitation, which is why I called you all in here this morning.” He smoothed a hand down his chest to settle his robes, and they glinted faintly in the morning light. He must’ve ironed them right before coming here. “I’ve taken the liberty of picking out your attire in advance to avoid any potential upset.” He aimed the last comment directly at Anakin, who rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful.

“They gave out party invitations to people who did all the work?” Ahsoka asked doubtfully, looking back to the clones. “That’s nice of them. What about all the others?”

“They’ve invited the platoons, though only the officers are required to attend.”

“With respect, sir,” Rex said, clearing his throat. “If I made any of my men attend a ball, they’d be staging a mutiny for  _ me _ before the night was through.”

Obi-Wan turned, a small smile at his lips. “As I figured. But you may bring a few you’d like to torture as your plus-ones, if you wish.”

“We’ve all been tortured enough, I think,” Fives interjected, doing his best not to sound insubordinate.

“Not quite, I’m afraid. They didn’t teach you how to dance during training.”

With that Anakin slouched further into the window-sill, groaning loudly enough that it echoed in the hall. “If they really wanted to help us celebrate our victories, they’d give us a few barrels of wine and diplomatic immunity on Coruscant for the next forty-eight hours,” he declared to the room, throwing an arm over his eyes.

The clones chuckled at that until they were given a hard look from Obi-Wan, who then unfortunately turned his attention back to Ahsoka. “Do you know how to dance, my dear?”

That was a trick question. She looked to Anakin, to Rex, then to the floor, stalling for time. None of them gave her any answers—certainly not any that would get her out of whatever Obi-Wan was about to inflict on all of them.

“Enough to get by,” she finally settled on. He nodded like he’d been expecting that answer, then held out a hand. 

“I’ll refresh you on the basics, then.”

“I should be studying,” she told him, taking a step back towards the door. Rex shot her a look of furious betrayal. “Master Yoda says that—”

“That you are weeks behind on your philosophy readings already,” Obi-Wan finished for her, as if she didn’t know. “Another morning of shirking your studies shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“What if I can’t go?” she asked, trying for a different tact. “Maybe I’m busy that night.”

“And what night is that, dear?”

“Uh….”

Anakin hopped down from the window, his freshly-polished boots clattering on the marble. “None of us want to go to this thing, Obi-Wan. It’s torture, like Fives said.”

“That’s hardly the point, is it?” 

“What does that even mean? It’s a party for  _ us!”  _ Anakin stabbed a finger into his own chest for emphasis. “It should be what we want. I shouldn’t even be going, anyway. I was barely there on Umbara,” he muttered, casting his eyes to the floor.

“Neither was I,” Ahsoka chimed in. When all three of the clones gave her dagger stares, she hurried to add, “and Anakin’s right. We’re all soldiers. We don’t go to balls, especially not clones.”

“We are peacekeepers,” Obi-Wan corrected her, and by the tone of his voice she could tell he was about to launch into a lecture. “Part of that duty includes diplomacy. Our victories are the Republic’s victories, and it’s poor form to blow them off as nonsense.”

“They are nonsense!” Anakin cut in, making Obi-Wan look back at him.

“Your opinion of them is irrelevant,” he replied curtly. “They serve to maintain high spirits amongst the people. They also serve as free positive press, something we can’t get enough of these days. It’s important that we all attend, including you three,” he added, turning to Rex, Cody and Fives. They straightened where they stood, though they couldn’t quite hide their sour expressions.

“Of course, sir,” Rex said, answering for all three of them. With a satisfied nod, Obi-Wan turned back to Ahsoka once more, hand extended.

“Last to arrive is first up,” he informed her, and she swore she heard delight in his voice.

* * *

Technically speaking, it wasn’t the  _ worst _ thing to ever happen to her. Maybe being caged up in a slaver’s palace was where that title belonged; or maybe it was being hunted down for sport. Those were definitely worse. Probably.

“Left foot forward,” Obi-Wan instructed, sweeping a leg under hers to bring it flush with his own boot. “Try it again.”

“No normal person moves this way,” she informed him, resetting their position on the makeshift dance floor. Despite his protests to keep her head up, she watched their feet as they moved; his with an effortless grace, her own with fumbling reluctance. It meant that she had her face nearly pressed into his robes, and she frowned up at him when they began to move again. “Are you wearing cologne?”

“It smells disgusting,” Anakin chimed in. He’d reclaimed his seat on the windowsill and had more or less ordered the clones to join him, forming a small gallery from which they occasionally lobbed barbs at Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. “Like the cleaner they put in landspeeders.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan answered calmly, ignoring the ribbing. “It’s not—Ahsoka, left foot!”

“I’m trying! But these stupid—boots—” She kicked her heel against the marble, making a clacking sound. “They’re uncomfortable.” And this wasn’t at all like the combat acrobatics she’d learned during training; it had too much structure to it, too many unnatural movements.

“They’ll break in,” he assured her. “It’s why we’re practicing in them.”

“I thought you just wanted to play dress up,” Anakin interjected. Obi-Wan stopped them in the middle of the floor, forcing Ahsoka to grab onto his arms to keep from falling.

“Would you like a turn, Anakin?”

“I know how to dance,” he shot back. 

Obi-Wan reset their position once again, readjusting her hands. “You can begin teaching one of the officers, then. Decide amongst yourselves which one goes first.”

All three of the clones immediately jumped down from the windowsill and stepped away from Anakin. Their movements were so synchronised it almost looked like a kind of dance in its own right.

Now with the license to suddenly inflict this horror on other people, Anakin’s mood brightened. He shot Rex a grin as he hopped down to the floor, who was doing his best to look everywhere except for the general.

Obi-Wan brought her attention back to their lessons with a tug that threw off her centre of gravity and forced her to concentrate on where she placed her feet. 

“I think it’s only fair you go first, Rex,” she overheard Fives suggest. She was too preoccupied to watch them, but she was sure a shoving match was imminent.

Ahsoka frowned up at Obi-Wan. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He gave her a coy look. “Did what?”

“Oh, pfft. You know what I mean.” She removed her hand from his shoulder for a brief moment to gesture at the clones. “Make them fight over who goes first.”

His expression turned conspiratorial, and he lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “If you’re all going to torture me with endless complaints, I’ll do my best to give you something to complain about.”

Ahsoka swallowed down a laugh and did her best to follow Obi-Wan across the floor. She wished there was some sort of pattern on the ground to help guide her; everything about this felt counter-intuitive, more routine than rhythm. It was exactly the way she was taught  _ not _ to move.

“You’ll have to attend a great many of these over the course of your military career,” he told her, sensing her frustration. She had to strain to listen to him speak above the argument that began raging beside them. “And you  _ will  _ be asked to dance. Many times.”

Ahsoka nodded, more in defeat than agreement. “Are you supposed to talk and stuff while dancing?” she asked, looking up at him. When she stepped on his boot, he only smiled and moved onto the next position set.

“It would be a bit awkward if you didn’t,” he replied dryly, which was a relief. It was easy to talk with Obi-Wan; there was no pressure to fill every pocket of silence with noise, or to find something interesting to say in order to impress or amuse him. She imagined doing this with a random senator instead, and felt her stomach sink.

“What if I don’t have anything to talk about?” she continued, following his movements across the floor. His hand was warm and dry in her own. “I don’t have a lot in common with diplomats.”

“They like talking about themselves,” he responded, glancing briefly over at the sidebar. Apparently Cody had been chosen as the unlucky first dance apprentice, and was currently being counselled by Anakin on where to put his hands. “Ask them a couple questions and then let them do the rest. It often works for me,” he added with a wink, looking back to her.

“So like talking to you, then,” she said, giving him a surreptitious glance that made his mouth tug up in a smile. 

“I don’t bore you, do I, Ahsoka?”

She shrugged. “Not usually.”

He laughed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Your cologne isn’t gross, by the way,” she added, and he sobered a little, as if suddenly self-conscious. “It’s nice.”

He looked down very briefly at himself before raising a brow. “It’s not too much, is it?”

“Maybe a little less,” she reasoned, ducking forward to sniff at his robes. “Depends on how cozy you want to get with people.”

Anakin and Cody nearly bumped into them as they twirled awkwardly across the floor, but he managed to steer them out of the way of a direct collision. “Oh, he’s getting cozy, all right,” Anakin said, overhearing their conversation. “His girlfriend is showing up.”

“She’s not my—Anakin, your form is wrong. Right hand on the waist—”

Anakin turned suddenly, bringing Cody with him, who grunted in annoyance. “Cody’s still got a couple broken fingers. We’re switching it up.” 

“Avoid Senator Tarze, then. He’ll think poorly of you if he catches you dancing like that.”

“And I’ll die of shame if he does,” Anakin lamented, then tapped the front of his boot to Cody’s. “Step back a bit.”

“I don’t have any leverage if I stand like that,” he protested, leaning back with his shoulders to compensate. 

“That’s what I said!” Ahsoka cut in, and Cody gave her a helpless look.

“Because you’re performing a dance, not getting ready for battle,” Obi-Wan reminded the both of them, ending that particular line of protest. Cody muttered something about distinctions without differences before adjusting his feet, and Anakin pulled them into another twirl that made his eyes go wide.

“He’s talking about the Duchess of Mandalore, right?” Ahsoka asked quietly so they wouldn’t be overheard, and Obi-Wan looked back at her. She tried not to shrink under his gaze; Anakin had told her about Obi-Wan and the Duchess in a hush-hush sort of way, but she’d been too scared to ask him how true any of it was. Knowing Anakin, at least fifty percent of it was pure fabrication, but it was difficult to sort out which fifty percent of the story that was.

The tension cut when she stepped on his boot again. “Sorry.”

“Chests close, legs further apart,” he instructed, stepping forward in a half-lunge that she remembered to lean into this time. “And yes, she’ll be attending.”

Ahsoka frowned. “Why? It’s a Republic ball, right?”

“Formally, yes,” he replied. “But several diplomats from neutral systems will be there. They want to congratulate us on freeing the people of Kiros. Good standing with any faction that liberates independent colonies without pressuring them to join their war effort after the fact helps keep both us and the Separatists from engaging in the sorts of attacks we saw on Kiros. That’s the thinking, anyway,” he added, more to himself than her.

“But the Togrutas  _ are _ joining us,” Ahsoka said, frowning as she tried to remember the footwork pattern. She was getting better at not stepping on him, at least. 

“They haven’t made any official declarations yet, and I doubt they will for a while.” Obi-Wan pulled them into a twirl, and this time she didn’t slam into his chest. “They need time to heal first. Joining us immediately would put them on a timeline to begin training and reassignment that they may not be ready to keep up with.”

She absorbed that, doing her best to commit it to memory. There was just as much strategy to diplomacy as there was to waging war, and she should probably start paying more attention to the former.

Conversation died down as the dancing lessons continued. Despite a fair amount of complaining and apologising, she managed to get the hang of it pretty quickly. It wasn’t intuitive, much less comfortable, but it did follow a set pattern of careful body movements and hand positions that she eventually memorised. It was still stiff and awkward, but she wasn’t bumping into Obi-Wan or stepping on his polished boots any longer. And despite how much she despised all of this, he was a good and patient teacher.

Her quick learning was immediately punished when Obi-Wan instructed her to begin showing Rex the dance as he paired off with Fives. The captain was still displeased with her attempts to weasel out of dancing lessons earlier this morning, and she spent the next twenty minutes cajoling him back into a good mood in between instructing him on where to put his feet.

“I was gonna figure out how to get you guys out of it, too—”

“You were not,” Rex interrupted her. He was doing his best to look annoyed, but she could see his mouth twitching. He was easy to win over if she pushed the right buttons, and she prided herself on knowing most of them.

Ahsoka grabbed his hand on her shoulder and readjusted it, then pulled them both left as she stepped back. “I was! I would’ve planted a, a bomb or something—”

He scoffed, and corrected a short stumble as she pulled them suddenly in the opposite direction. “If the general let you be excused, you would’ve left without a thought.”

“To come up with a plan to bail you all out!”

Rex shook his head, not breaking. “Nope. You owe me one, kid. All three of us.”

“What about Anakin?” She looked over at him and Cody, still locked together in a clumsy waltz that hadn’t improved much in the past hour or so they’d been at this.

“I have no doubt that if we left the two of them—” He nodded to Obi-Wan and then Anakin, “alone together for five minutes, there wouldn’t be any dancing to get out of.”

“That’s probably true,” Ahsoka agreed, then looked back to Obi-Wan. “Who taught you all this stuff, Obi-Wan?”

“My own master,” he replied easily. “And I taught it to Anakin when he was your age. I see he’s been slacking in that respect.”

“I’ve been too busy teaching her other things, like how not to die,” Anakin shot back, lunging closer to Obi-Wan. “You know, boring stuff like that.”

“I hope you’re still familiar with your table manners,” Obi-Wan continued, as if he hadn’t heard his former padawan. “We’ll be moving onto those next.”

She looked back to Rex, horrified with the realisation that this was going to be far more than dancing lessons.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll have to amend my earlier statement,” he said to her quietly. “You owe me a lot more than one favour.”

* * *

It took a lot longer than just the morning to get through everything Obi-Wan wanted to cover. Ahsoka tracked the movement of the sunlight pouring through the hall’s windows as the day progressed, wondering which angle it would settle at when they were finally finished.

As promised, after dancing lessons, Obi-Wan instructed all of them on proper table etiquette. It was an easy break for her—she couldn’t go a single meal without  _ someone _ critiquing the way she held her cutlery—but Rex, Cody and Fives struggled to keep up, used to wolfing down their food in large mess halls. She tried to send calming thoughts in their direction, but they were still miserable.

After that, they were given a crash course on conversational etiquette, and  _ that _ eluded her entirely. How to greet diplomats, what topics were off-limits—which included basically anything interesting—and what was appropriate to drink at different times of the day. She absorbed none of it, resolving to stick to a series of cue cards that she would make copies of to give to the clones later. It was all nonsense that no one cared about unless they’d never done anything more thrilling than stand on a rooftop balcony, and she had no intention in interacting with anyone like that.

“Many of the people in attendance will know you by face, if not name,” Obi-Wan told all of them. Anakin looked like he was fighting sleep behind him. “But be delicate if they get your name wrong. Most of them don’t like being corrected.”

Fives snorted at that, making Obi-Wan turn. He didn’t even sit up in his seat under the curious gaze of the general—they must be  _ really  _ out of it by now, Ahsoka thought. 

“Fives?”

“Nothing, sir,” he said with a resigned sigh. “We’re used to it, anyway.”

Obi-Wan gave them a sympathetic smile. “Senator Amidala and Organa are both kind people. Stick near them if you’re hurting for conversational companions. But don’t crowd them,” he added, directing that at everyone. “You need to work the room. We can’t give the impression we’re favouring anyone.”

“Even foreign dignitaries?” Anakin asked with a self-satisfied smirk, and that seemed to finally snap Obi-Wan’s careful patience.

“Or esteemed Senators,” he shot back, his voice low and full of warning. Anakin shrunk down in his seat, and Obi-Wan returned to lecturing them again about diplomatic decorum.

Ahsoka decided that she would ask Anakin about that later.

It was evening by the time they were done. The only meal they’d been treated to had been the one where Obi-Wan incessantly badgered them about how to eat and drink, so she was famished. The setting sun cast the entire hall in an orange glow, and the direct sunlight made her sweat in her robes.

“That will have to do, I suppose,” Obi-Wan murmured, stroking his beard. He seemed to be talking to himself more than anyone else. “Most are sympathetic to faux pas as long as they come from soldiers. Many find it endearing, even. But do your best regardless,” he added, giving them all a firm look. “Everyone will be watching.”

“That makes me feel a lot better,” Ahsoka muttered, casting a wistful glance towards the door. “Can we eat now?”

“In a moment. I need a list of any adjustments you may need to your outfit. You’ll be wearing it for several hours, so it’s important that it’s comfortable.”

“The jackets are tight in the shoulders, sir,” Cody cut in, and Fives and Rex nodded in agreement. “And the cuffs are too slim.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Obi-Wan said with a nod. “But a lot of that has to do with the fit of the jacket itself. You shouldn’t have full range of motion in formal wear.”

“We do,” Ahsoka said. “I mean, the robes are pretty loose.”

“They’re inappropriate for anyone who isn’t a Jedi,” Obi-Wan told her. “Dress blues are the next best option. Unless you’d like to accompany me to the tailor’s tomorrow for a full refitting?” He directed the last question to the clones, who all shook their heads.

“These are fine, sir,” Rex said hurriedly, making Obi-Wan smile.

“As I thought. You’re dismissed, then. Make sure to change before you do anything else—especially eat. We’re limited in time, so if you spill anything on it or rip the fabric, you may have to suffer with it at the ball.”

Nobody had any qualms about changing out of their ridiculous clothes, and all four of them hurried to leave the hall. The moment the door clicked shut, Rex slouched his shoulders and huffed out a breath.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he murmured, looking to Cody and Fives for moral support. “We can’t keep pace with a roomful of politicians.”

“It’s easier than it sounds,” Anakin assured them, putting a hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Forget most of the stuff Obi-Wan said about etiquette. Everyone’s going to be too drunk within the hour to care about anything except themselves.”

“You’ve got more experience with them than I do,” Rex said, rather diplomatically, and then looked to Ahsoka. “I know General Kenobi said not to mill about in one place, but—”

“We’ll stick close by during the ball,” she promised them, and all three of the clones relaxed. “You guys are the only people I wanna talk to anyway.”

“Go eat, take a nap, relax,” Anakin told them all, stretching out his arms. She heard something pop in his back, and he let out a sigh. “That’s what I’ll be doing. And try to avoid Obi-Wan the next few days,” he added. “He’ll always think up something he forgot to ‘teach’ you.”

“Noted, sir.” Rex nodded to Cody and Fives. “Come on, boys. We’ll take the back entrance to the barracks.”

“Don’t want your troopers seeing you in fancy clothes?” Ahsoka asked, smiling.

“Not if I want them to keep respecting me,” Rex said grimly, and with that the three of them departed.

When they were gone, Anakin nodded in the direction of their own quarters, and she fell into step beside him. “What about you, Snips?”

“I could study,” she said, pursing her lips. “Or... I could go for a nap, too.”

“Well, I can’t tell you to skip school….” Anakin gave her a shrug. “Less I know, the better.”

She grinned. “You’re a much cooler Master than Obi-Wan.”

He brightened. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Don’t,” she insisted. “He’ll just give me more stuff to do.”


	2. Anakin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His patience is wearing thin, and they haven't even served dinner yet.

“I think you look dashing,” Padmé called from her dressing room, and the frown he gave himself in the mirror softened a little.

He extended his arms outward, watching the fabric shimmer faintly with the movement. “It’s a bit overkill,” he replied doubtfully. There was even lace on the cuffs, and it tickled his skin.

“You’re just saying that because Obi-Wan picked them out.” She appeared in the doorway, her hands busy with affixing her earrings. “I would’ve suggested much the same if I had any input.”

“Mace says they’re ostentatious,” he told her, looking up to watch her get ready. She’d finished her make-up, and the gown she was wearing for the ball was breathtaking in its simplicity; a royal red dress with a scooped neckline and a black-laced shawl that fell around her biceps. He realised they were matching, and wondered if she’d done it on purpose.

He closed the distance between them, unable to help himself, and snaked an arm around her waist to pull her close. She smiled up at him, her hands falling away from her ears to settle on his chest. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, and she rewarded him with a kiss.

“Thank you.” She ran a hand through his hair, stalling his thoughts for a moment. “You look wonderful, too. But your hair is out of control.”

“I brushed it,” he protested. “And I think you should leave yours down.”

Padmé raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“Or maybe leave it up,” he mused, tilting his head to look at her. “You might be too distracting otherwise.”

She smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling. “Can’t have that.”

Their conversation was interrupted with another kiss, this time from him, and far less brief. He’d have to be careful not to leave any of her lipstick on his skin, but that was a problem for him to deal with ten minutes from now.

Padmé eventually broke off with a gasp, her eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “Better….” She swallowed, blowing out a breath. “Better stop.”

“For now,” he rasped, pressing his forehead against hers. 

She nodded back, sighing. Then one hand lifted from his chest to brush across her lips. “You smudged my make-up,” she said breathlessly, but she was smiling. “And you’ve got it on you, now.”

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a red smear across his skin that made her roll her eyes. “Now stop distracting me,” she told him, pulling away and retreating back to her dressing room. He followed after her, but kept his hands to himself. “We’ll be late.”

“I should leave now, actually,” he said, glancing at the chrono on the wall. “I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” Obi-Wan wanted them all in the hall early to help with the finishing touches. He didn’t have a problem with lending a hand, exactly, but it was cutting into his time with Padmé, which was short and sporadic enough already. They’d be in the same room together all evening tonight, a thought that made his head spin, but they’d have to be careful not to stick too close together.

“Don’t be grumpy,” she chided him, watching him from her mirror. She grabbed a pad from her dresser and began to wipe at her mouth. “This is important, even if you don’t like these sorts of things.”

He sighed, leaning against the doorway. “I know.”

“Go,” she said, waving a hand. “I’ll find you when I arrive. But wash your face first. And comb your hair,” she added with a quirk of her mouth. “You look a bit dishevelled. There’s hairspray in the cabinet.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he assured her, but did as she said, taking a short stop to the bathroom to clean himself up. The only thing left was the glove for his right hand, and then he slipped quietly out of Padmé’s quarters, checking the corridors to make sure no one saw him.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, he was the last one to arrive in the hall. Even Ahsoka got there before him, helping one of the catering aides set up the audio equipment. Rex, Cody and Fives were carrying tables in and setting up the banquet lines between the massive support pillars.

Taking a surreptitious glance around and confirming Obi-Wan was nowhere to be seen, he headed over to Ahsoka. She grinned when she saw him.

“You clean up nice,” she said, giving him an amused once-over before turning back to the aide. She had several electrical cables suspended in the air, and the caterer was plucking them out one by one and plugging them into a panel on the wall.

“So do you,” he replied. “Nice headgear.”

“Nice hair,” she shot back. Her usual decorative beads had been replaced by a silver headpiece that framed her face in exquisite metal filigree. He wondered if she’d picked that out herself, then scoffed at the thought. Of course she hadn’t.

“What needs to be done still?” he asked, looking around. He was undeniably impressed; Anakin could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen the Grand Hall in the Senate Building look so beautiful. Lavish furniture was placed all around the room, leaving plenty of seating and dining space for everyone in attendance; sweeping curtains fell away elegantly from the centre crystal chandelier in Republic colours, making the vaulted ceiling above disappear into folds of velvet; and delicacies from dozens of Republic systems were laid out on banquet tables as far as the eye could see. He wondered what all of this could possibly cost, and decided not to dwell on it.

Ahsoka shrugged, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. “Not much left to be done, really. You arrived at a perfect time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not on purpose.”

“Uh-huh.”

“General,” Rex called from the other side of the hall, his voice carrying easily. The curtains above did a decent job of absorbing a lot of the noise, but the Grand Hall was still one of the largest rooms in the Senate Building. “A word?”

Shrugging away from Ahsoka, he crossed the room towards the clones. They were dressed in the same uniform they’d worn to dance lessons the other day, except now their medals were pinned to their breast coats. They looked just as uncomfortable and out of place as they had before. 

“Everything good?”

“As much as it can be, sir,” Rex replied, setting down a table. “We were just—”

“We were just wondering about security,” Fives cut in, ignoring the look Rex gave him. “General Kenobi told us not to bring weapons.”

“I’ve got mine,” Anakin assured them, hand settling on his belt where his saber was clipped. “And so does Ahsoka. The Senate said they were handling security concerns with their civilian regiment.”

“Of course, sir,” Rex said, using the tone he always did when he was about to protest something. “But I’m still concerned. The registry says there’ll be over two hundred people in attendance.”

He nodded. “We haven’t heard anything to suggest there’ll be an attack. I trust the Council’s risk assessment of the event.”

“Right,” Rex said, still sounding doubtful. Anakin crossed his arms with a smile, garnering a puzzled look from the clones.

“You guys just want something to do with yourselves to avoid socialising.”

“Not exactly—”

“That’s right,” Cody cut in, making the other two look at him. “What? It’s true.”

“My concerns aren’t self-motivated,” Rex assured him, turning back to Anakin. “But… we aren’t used to being idle, sir. We’re a bit out of our depth.”

“I’d love nothing more than to drink with you boys down in the barracks,” Anakin told them, earning a few tentative smiles. “But we gotta get through this. It’ll only be a couple hours. Drink, have fun, flirt with the diplomats. They’ll eat it up. We can have our own celebrations after this mess is done with.”

They nodded nearly in unison, though he could still sense some unease. Glancing back at the door, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Keep an eye out, if you really need something to do,” he told them. 

“For what?” Fives asked, his eyes flicking to the front entrance.

“Think of it as... reconnoitering, only with less sniper fire. Watch who does what. Which senators avoid each other, which ones get cozy. It might be helpful to the Council.”

Fives rolled his eyes. “Ah, psh. You’re just pulling our legs now.”

Rex didn’t even glare at the outburst. Anakin pursed his lips. “I’m being serious,” he assured them. “You know the war’s becoming unpopular. The Council needs to know who our allies are. Everyone else is going to be using this as an opportunity to get dirt. Why not us?”

They exchanged looks, and then Rex’s back straightened. “Will do, sir.” He sounded far more confident this time, and with a nod, Anakin left them to set out the last of the tables.

Before he managed to find something to keep himself busy with, the main entrance of the hall opened again, this time letting in Master Plo, Mace, and Obi-Wan. The former two were not nearly as lavishly dressed, opting for their usual formal robes worn during medal ceremonies. Anakin suddenly felt overdressed seeing the two of them.

“You’re finally here,” Obi-Wan called to him with just a touch of admonishment. “Good. I know the kitchen staff still need help moving the rest of the food in.”

“Master Plo, Master Mace,” Anakin replied, ignoring Obi-Wan and giving a shallow bow to both of them. “I didn’t know you’d be in attendance.”

“The whole Council was invited,” Plo responded. “We’ll be representing those that cannot join us. Many have prior military engagements.”

He tried not to feel too jealous of them. “Lucky break.”

“It’s an honour to spend a night with such fine food and company,” Obi-Wan interjected, raising a brow. “I’m happy that all of us could be here.” He glanced down at Anakin’s belt and frowned. “I see you’ve brought your lightsaber.”

“I see you’ve brought yours,” he countered. Plo and Mace were similarly adorned.

“For decoration,” Obi-Wan stressed. “Not for use.”

“You really think I’m gonna have a duel in the middle of a ball?”

His former Master shot a look at Ahsoka, who was still busy helping with the audio equipment. “I’ve come to realise that you two take anything that isn’t an explicit ‘no’ as encouragement to behave otherwise.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, ignoring the disapproving frown that followed. “What about Master Yoda?”

“He may stop by,” Mace replied. “The Chancellor was eager to have his ear tonight, so I’m sure you’ll see him around.”

“Best behaviour, then,” Anakin muttered, then took a step back. “Well, I’ll go help—”

“In a moment,” Obi-Wan interrupted, making him sigh. “I’d like you to make sure that Ahsoka and the clones don’t hide in a corner or sneak off somewhere. I can’t stress how important it is that—”

“I told them already,” Anakin assured him. “They’ll stick around.”

“Be sure that they do.”

Anakin raised a brow. “And what are you gonna be doing while I babysit? Drinking and dancing?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “That’s the gist of it, yes. But I’ll be keeping an eye out, just as Plo and Mace will be. If anyone needs a refresher on etiquette, we’re happy to oblige.”

“If I forget how to hold a fork I’ll let you know.”

“Anakin—”

He was already turning around, and called over his shoulder to respond. “I’m off to the kitchens to be helpful!”

Ignoring the chorus of annoyed old-man sighs behind him, he loped off to the far end of the hall.

* * *

The guests began to filter in just as the sun was setting over the city. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that arriving early had been a massive help to the catering staff; everything in the hall was set up perfectly, down to the arrangement of the tableware in the dining section. The place settings even had small cards with everyone’s names on them to ensure people were seated properly. He’d switched his out with Senator Ta’aft so that he could sit next to Padmé, but otherwise left them alone.

Anakin watched the main entrance. Mace and Obi-Wan stood by the doors to greet everyone who entered, flanked by Senate security, and Plo and Ahsoka were mingling with a few of the guests who’d already helped themselves to drinks. Rex, Cody and Fives did their best to not look like they were huddling together in a corner, but their body language was closed off and he knew most senators harboured a horrified sort of awe for the clones, so none of them were interacting. 

Yet, anyway. He’d ply the three of them with a few drinks to see if that wouldn’t help loosen them up a bit.

“General Skywalker.”

He looked up to see Organa approaching him, and smiled at the man. Bail was one of the few people attending this thing that he actually liked.

“How goes it?” he asked as Organa stood beside him by one of the dining tables, crossing his arms. The senator smiled at such a casual introduction.

“It goes well,” he replied easily, appraising the hall with satisfaction. “I’m eager for a relaxing night.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Organa raised a brow, his tone dry. “Not comfortable in a room full of dignitaries and politicians?”

“I’m more worried about the others,” he said, nodding to Ahsoka and then the clones. “They aren’t used to these things.”

“You sound like your Master,” Organa mused, and smiled at Anakin’s sideways glance. “But your padawan seems to be handling herself.”

He followed the senator’s gaze to Ahsoka, who was listening intently to Orn Free Ta and doing a wonderful job of looking interested in what he was saying. He’d seen the same look on her face many times; mostly when she was being lectured by Jocasta Nu or Master Yoda about her behaviour.

“It’s still early,” he said doubtfully, and looked over at the clones again, sequestered by the banquet tables and seemingly waiting for some of the senators to start picking at the food before they helped themselves.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” Bail said with a wink. Before he could reply, Organa was hailed by Orn Free Ta to join the conversation, and he left Anakin with a parting, knowing look.

For a while all Anakin did was drift around the hall aimlessly, doing his best to greet everyone he happened upon. The start of any party, especially ones like these, always tended to drag on. He knew from experience that nothing fun would happen until after dinner, when everyone was sufficiently tipsy and had been treated to a few too many meal courses. Avoiding the watchful gaze of the other Jedi, he forced his way through small talk and tried not to watch the door too zealously. Padmé said she’d be here soon; he’d just have to be patient. 

After twenty minutes of introducing himself over and over again and listening to dozens of senators and diplomats either congratulate him on the Council’s recent victories or ply him with their own accolades, he scrounged up a glass of wine for himself. He also gave Rex, Cody and Fives the go-ahead to start eating the appetisers, and tried to blend into the curtains pinned up around the support pillars while he waited.

“These guys really like talking,” Ahsoka whispered by his elbow, and he glanced down to find her poking at a small plate of smoked claw fish and cheeses in her hand.

“Learn anything from Free Ta?” he asked, stealing a slice from her plate with a crooked finger and subtle application of Force.

Ahsoka hummed, her mouth full, and nodded in consideration for a moment before replying. “He told me about his recent policy successes,” she said. “But I kinda zoned out.”

He popped the slice into his mouth, and she frowned at him when she realised he’d snuck some food. “Be ready to do a lot of that.”

“I have plenty of practice,” she assured him. “And I know Obi-Wan said no war talk tonight, but….”

“But?”

“A few people have asked me about it already,” she said, and slapped his hand away when he tried to grab another piece. “Get your own food!”

“Indulge them if they ask,” he told her, smiling at her wary expression. “Just make sure not to give away anything classified.”

“Obviously. But this is supposed to be our party, right? Why are we humouring senators? Shouldn’t they be humouring  _ me?”  _ She glanced over at the clones, then to Anakin. “Humouring  _ us,” _ she corrected after a moment.

“Because they fund the war,” he replied. “They’re our infrastructure. So don’t be afraid to show off, but make sure they ask for it first. And keep Obi-Wan out of earshot.”

Ahsoka made a  _ pfft _ sound like he’d just stated the obvious, but before he could respond he heard Padmé’s voice. Suppressing the urge to whip around, he glanced up casually towards the main entrance and saw her smiling warmly at Obi-Wan, offering a hand in greeting. She’d worn her hair down, the sides pulled up in braids that tumbled down her back. A good choice, but a dangerous one. He’d have to be especially careful not to stare.

A tap on his arm made him look back at Ahsoka, who’d raised a brow. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” he said honestly, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m already better at this than you,” she told him. “My bored face is a lot more convincing. Hey!” she called as he began to walk away. “Where are you going?”

“Socialising!” he called back, making a beeline for the front entrance. Padmé looked up at the comment, and though her face was already pulled into a smile, he saw her eyes warm as they fell to him. 

“Senator Amidala,” he said in greeting, stopping beside Obi-Wan.

“General Skywalker,” she responded, the epitome of diplomatic grace. “It’s nice to see you in good health. General Kenobi was just telling me about the origin of his black eye. Nasty business with slavers,” she added, her brows furrowing as she lingered on the still-healing cuts on Obi-Wan’s face.

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” Anakin said with a wave, earning an exasperated look from his master. “He just doesn’t like bacta tanks.”

“No sane person does,” Obi-Wan interjected. “They’re horrid things.”

“Like a bad hangover,” Padmé agreed. When Anakin offered his arm, she took it delicately, nodding to Obi-Wan. “A pleasure, General. We’ll have to talk more later.”

“We shall,” he said with a bow. 

Anakin hurried them away from the door, guiding Padmé towards the dining area so she could set her clutch down in her seat. She raised a brow when she saw their name tags beside one another.

“Is that your handiwork?” she asked, reaching for his wine glass. He checked to see that no one was watching, then handed it to her. 

“Maybe we’re just lucky,” he said coyly, making her grin around the glass rim.

“Mm,” she hummed, handing him back his glass after taking a sip. There was a small imprint of her lipstick along the edge, which she smudged away with a finger. “Get me one of these, will you? I have to go greet everyone.”

“Ah, you got lots of time.”

“The sooner I make the rounds, the sooner I can settle into longform conversations,” she said patiently, giving him a quick once-over. “You’re welcome to join me then. But,” she continued, eyeing his glass. “Wine and pleasantries first.”

He gave his best bow. “I got the first half of that,” he assured her. “I’ll let you deal with the other bits.”

* * *

Wine did nothing to improve the first two hours of the evening. Dinner was set ridiculously late, meaning that everyone had to stand around the front chamber in order to socialise. Which he absolutely did not want to do, and Padmé was the only reason he got through the brain-numbing conversations with countless senators and diplomats. Every once and a while he’d glance around to see what Snips and the clones were up to, feeling guilty about abandoning them until Padmé laughed or brushed up against his arm and he decided that maybe this would be a good lesson in diplomacy for all of them.

He occupied himself mostly by listening to other people talk and eating the endless amounts of hors d’oeuvres, fielding whatever questions he got about waging war. Which turned out to be a surprising amount, and once again he was struck by how completely removed most of the Senate was from the ongoing war.

“What is it like?” Orn Free Ta asked, dragging Anakin out of his thoughts. “Working with clones must come with its challenges.”

“It’s….” He dared not glance at Padmé. “Normal, I guess. They’re good men. I haven’t waged war alongside anyone else, so it’s hard to compare.”

“Ha! Quite right, my boy. I forget your age sometimes.” He sipped his drink. “But they’re all… you know?” The senator made a vague gesture in the air.

“Know what?”

“You know,” he repeated, leaning in a little. “All there? They’re impossible to tell apart. Must get confusing.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line.  _ No it isn’t  _ wasn’t appropriate.  _ They’re clones, they obviously look alike _ wasn’t either.  _ You are insufferable to talk to.  _ Definitely not that one.

“Pretty easy if you pay attention,” he said instead, ignoring the narrow look Padmé shot him. 

Familiar with uncomfortable comments, the senator only laughed. “Bring one over, then! I’d love to be acquainted. Fascinating people they must be.”

“Sure.” Anakin scanned the crowds as he stepped away, trying to find them. The clones had split up after Plo had politely reminded them to socialise, and he was sure Orn Free Ta wouldn’t be particular about which one he talked to. He wouldn’t know the difference anyway. 

He spotted Cody first, and made a beeline over to him. He was standing next to Obi-Wan and Bail; combined that with the drink in his hand, and he almost looked relaxed. 

Anakin suppressed his impending guilt at having to ruin Cody’s evening as he politely inserted himself into their circle. Obi-Wan was the first to acknowledge him, giving him a curious look.

“What are you boys up to?” he asked, leaning an elbow on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. 

“I was just pulling out a few war stories from the General and Commander here,” Bail replied, looking amused. 

“Thought we weren’t supposed to talk shop,” Anakin said, directing the comment to his former Master.

“Not without prompting,” Obi-Wan replied easily. “And I’m familiar with the kinds of stories you tell.”

Anakin nodded to Cody to grab his attention. “You tell Organa about the Screechers? That’s one of my favourites.”

“Ah,” Cody hummed, sneaking a look at his general. “I’ll let you know if we get to that one.”

“You will not, because we won’t be,” Obi-Wan cut in. He shrugged off Anakin’s elbow, giving him an impatient look. “Is there something we can help you with, Anakin?”

He feigned a hurt expression. “I can’t join in on a conversation between friends?”

“And abandon Senator Orn Free Ta?” Bail interjected. His expression was polite, but his eyes twinkled. “I can’t imagine why you’d do such a thing.”

“Ugh. That’s actually why I’m here.” He tipped his head back and finished his third glass of wine, then shot a look at Cody. “He wants to talk to a clone.”

The commander raised a brow. “About?”

“Annoying shit, mostly. He called you guys fascinating.”

“I’ve had worse compliments,” Cody murmured, then looked around—presumably for Rex and Fives. “Are the others busy?”

Anakin laughed. “Man, you guys are so ready to sell each other out.”

“So are you,” Cody countered. Anakin raised his empty glass to him.

“Can’t argue with that.”

He was about to say more when he noticed Obi-Wan. He’d gone quiet, though not because he was interested in listening to their conversation. There was a slack, far-away expression on his face, and Anakin didn’t have to look far to find out why; the Duchess had just arrived.

He saw Cody and Bail follow their gazes, noticing the staring. She was by the front entrance, flanked by two of her personal guards, whose regular armour was replaced by freshly pressed uniforms, tailored in the familiarly dramatic New Mandalorian style. Duchess Satine herself was even more dressed up than usual—her dress was an array of carefully folded greys and blues that fell away from her shoulders, though none of it seemed to drag on the ground.

Anakin glanced back at Obi-Wan, who quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. “What was that, Anakin?” he asked, turning back to their conversational circle as if nothing had happened.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied with a grin. It was rare to see Obi-Wan flustered; even more so to have an audience for it. He was going to relish it as much as he could.

“That’s Mandalore’s leader, is it not?” Organa asked, giving Obi-Wan an out, and Anakin cursed the man’s kindness.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, doing his best to look casual about not glancing over at her by paying attention to his drink instead. “She and a number of diplomats from neutral systems should be joining us tonight as a thank you for the rescue on Kiros.”

“I’m glad. Perhaps you’ll reacquaint me, then. I’ve only had the pleasure of speaking to her once before.”

Anakin tried not to roll his eyes as Obi-Wan feigned polite interest, and the both of them excused themselves to go meet the Duchess. He looked over at Cody, jealous of all the alcohol still in his cup.

“Wanna go get harassed by a Senator?” he asked the commander, who let out a long sigh.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

Cody shotgunned the rest of his drink before finding a nearby table to leave his glass on, then smoothed down his jacket and gestured in defeat for Anakin to lead the way. Before he could submit Cody to an hour of torment, however, Ahsoka bumped into him breathlessly, grabbing one of his arms for support. If his wine glass had still been full, they’d be cleaning up an accident right now.

He frowned down at her. “Snips?” 

“Master!” She blinked and stood up straight. “Good. I’ve been trying to get to you for the last twenty minutes. People keep calling me over to talk to them.”

He shot a concerned look at Cody before turning back to her. “Have you been drinking?”

“One glass,” she informed him, brushing at his robes where her grip had wrinkled them. “I have a question—actually, a request.”

“Okay,” he said warily, and was relieved of his empty glass by a passing waiter.

“I was talking to Senator Mas Amedda about my sabers since he kept asking about them, telling him about jar’kai and duel saber fights, blah blah. Anyway, he says he hasn’t seen a lightsaber duel in ‘far too long’.” Her fingers wagged in the air with exaggerated quotation marks. “At first he wanted to test one of mine out, but I told him that was waaaaaay too dangerous, so—”

“You want to have a saber duel while drunk?” Anakin surmised. Ahsoka’s face scrunched up. 

“You’ve had  _ three _ glasses of wine,” she reminded him, apparently thinking that was a good defence.

His eyes widened. “You want to have a saber duel with  _ me? _ In the Grand Hall?”

She gave a snort. “Who else would I have it with? Master Plo keeps hovering around me, and Mace would lock me in the brig before agreeing to something like that.”

“Maybe you should have some water first,” Cody chimed in, looking concerned.

“Good idea.” Anakin waved the waiter back over and grabbed a glass of water from their tray, handing it to Ahsoka. Her fingers gripped the cup hard. “You should sit down, too.”

“I’m fine,” she responded, her words muffled into the rim of the glass as she took a sip, then sighed. “Man that’s good. It’s hot in here.”

Anakin couldn’t disagree more. Even with the crowds and the alcohol, it was chilly in the hall. He wasn’t all that familiar with how Togrutas processed intoxicants, but Ahsoka’s age, inexperience, and slight frame definitely wouldn’t be helping.

Then a thought occurred to him, and she looked up at the sudden clench or anger she surely sensed from him. “Did someone give you a drink?”

“No,” she said with a frown. “I just grabbed a glass. Plo said it was okay,” she added, her tone growing defensive. “And I’ve fought more battles than all the people in this room combined. I can have a drink at a—”

“I’m not mad at you,” he interrupted her, and saw her bravado deflate a little. “But you have to be careful. Someone could drug you.”

“Someone here?” Ahsoka rubbernecked, and he brought her attention back to them, stepping closer. Cody closed in their circle, his shoulders now set defensively. “I thought you said there weren’t any security threats.”

“I’m talking about the people in attendance,” he said quietly, glancing at Cody. “Remember what Obi-Wan said. They aren’t used to being told no, and they like to be flattered.”

Ahsoka gave him a worried look. “I thought he meant, like, in conversation.”

“That is what he meant. But it’s good general advice.” Anakin looked around until he found Padmé, who was still speaking politely with Free Ta and several other dignitaries, although she was looking over at their small circle, watching them with growing concern. He met her eyes, seeing the worried look in them, and mentally kicked himself. He’d forgone teaching Ahsoka a lot of social etiquette, trusting the other Masters to pick up the slack and secure in the knowledge that most of it was useless nonsense anyway, but this was one area where he’d well and truly failed her. 

“Master?” 

He looked back down at Ahsoka, her eyes full of concern even as she wavered slightly in place. He let out a breath.

“Come on,” he whispered, giving her a reassuring smile. “Let’s go watch Cody get tortured.”

She took another sip of water, shooting a look at the commander. “So no lightsaber battle?” 

“Not until you’re more steady on your feet.” He tugged her along and began to walk, but she resisted.

“So we  _ will  _ have a duel,” she clarified, making Cody cough into his arm to hide a laugh.

“Maybe,” Anakin told her, trying to keep a straight face. “Later. But not a word to anyone about it, understand?”

She made a zipping motion across her mouth, her face set in grim resolve.

“Good. Keep drinking. I’ll get you something to eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me over at [@oriyala](https://oriyala.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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